


So Now You'd Better Stop and Rebuild All Your Ruins

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: 2princes1throne, Immigrant Song, Loki fucks his way to the top, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sibling Incest, Thorki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 09:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: Subtitle: Five times Loki had sex during Thor: Ragnarok.





	So Now You'd Better Stop and Rebuild All Your Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> This was a nice way to kick off my humble Spring Break. I've been fairly obsessed with Thor: Ragnarok since it hit theatres, and fully expect to dabble more in the goings-ons of most of its big players. I ended up having a lot of ~feelings about Loki's own ~feelings in between all of the action, and this sort of cobbled itself together in my head. Title is taken from (where else?) the "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin.

1\. 

He's disoriented from falling out of the Bifrost, for a number of reasons, to be certain, but Loki knows power when he sees it. The man standing before him, effervescent, mischievous, and decidedly much, much older than he chooses to present himself, is power, indeed. This time, he doesn't need to chase after it: The Grandmaster comes to him. (And with him. And in him. And, well, it doesn't take much effort on either of their parts for a moderately amicable arrangement to be arranged, suffice it to say.)

2.

Not all of the beings on Sakaar are immortal. Some, Loki learns, are actually rather fragile. Though the notion of being 'owned' by anyone makes him blanch, he is relieved to find that his own 'royal demigod-slash-frost-giant' status, a somewhat exotic combination in this neck of the woods, affords him a relatively posh space near the upper echelons of the planet's questionable social hierarchy. Among other things, this likewise affords him a rather gratuitous placement within the sanctum of the Grandmaster's famed orgy ship. 

It is the Grandmaster, Himself, who receives first pick of the litter, naturally. It is difficult not to squirm, watching servants bend immediately before him with but a flick of his wrist, mouths and hands and other various and sundry orifices offered plainly. He begins to suspect his invitation abord was likewise a veiled implication that he would be proffering his own services this day, but the Grandmaster surprises him. "Pop a squat, my friend," he implores, and then there is a seat for Loki himself that is not, in fact, on his knees. Another vague handwave from the man in charge ("Let's make him feel at home, yeah?") is the impetus for two and then three servants to begin unfastening things, and then skillfully fondling the various appendages and crevices therein. "Yes, good," the Grandmaster croons when a pretty humanoid suckles extra hard, causing Loki's head to fall back and his eyelashes to flutter. All the while, he can sense the rapt enjoyment of the being beside him. The Grandmaster, it seems, likes to watch.

3.

He both wants and doesn't want to see Thor again so soon with equal aplomb. Unfortunately, the Grandmaster is immediately taken with him (who isn't?), to Loki's continued consternation regarding his general lot in life.

"Brothers, then." The Grandmaster rarely bothers with pleasantries or segues into conversations, Loki learns quickly. The way he says it is vaguely upsetting in its implications, but Loki knows he is not in a position to protest, and so he simply nods. "Not blood-related, though," the Grandmaster continues, and Loki swallows back some bile.

"No," he agrees.

"Hmm." He doesn't realize he's holding in his breath for several seconds. "Pretty, the whole, the 'all the complementary contrasts' thing," the Grandmaster finally offers, and he releases it. "Maybe later, as a consolation prize, after he gets thoroughly trounced by my Champion." It is not Loki's place to disagree, and so he does not, though the notion that Thor could really and truly die here provides him with a fleeting moment of vague terror. "For now, though," the Grandmaster continues, and beckons; and once again, bereft of a better choice (for now), Loki comes, in more ways than one.

4\. 

Thor escapes, along with the hideous green beast, Banter, something or other. Loki imagines offering himself in supplication, allowing the Grandmaster to take him, hard, standing, angrily, teeth clenched bitterly as he whispers into the nape of Lokis's neck all of the things he's going to make the 'Lord of Thunder' do to him and Loki and that he'll make them do to each other, once he has Thor safely locked up once more in the Winner's Tower. The presence of the Valkyrie puts them both on a different path, but even as he's following closely at the warrior woman's booted heels, turning his attention effortlessly, as he often does, to plotting, he files the alternative means of getting himself back into the Grandmaster's good graces away, as well as several access codes and security whats-its, for his own potentially good measure.

5.

Thor is power. Once, he was an erratic force, weaker for his inability to sustain himself when called to the fray. It had always been so easy to elicit his anger, too, to hit just the right nerve, the one that triggered the niggling doubt Thor and Loki and everyone else had that, in fact, he wasn't fit to be Odin's heir. For his part, Loki had been particularly good at zeroing in on the precise bit of pride and need for recognition that caused Thor to so easily fly off the handle. It would have been equally difficult to admit to himself at the time that, in fact, his brother's insecurities mirrored his own, and bringing them to the fore was satisfying because it was a relief to know that Odin's golden child had them the same as he himself did. On the contrary, it's such a plainfaced truth, now, that he wonders how things could have gotten so out of hand for so long before he simply accepted it as such.

Still, he doesn't blame Thor for being skeptical. He wants to believe there's a battle weariness apparent on his own visage the same as Thor's (save his brother's particularly grueling empty eye socket souvenir from their elder sister, perhaps), that both their demeanors belie a newfound sense of belonging, of finding one another at last after chasing and capturing and losing one another over and over again for so long, but as he had told his brother recently, communication had never been their family's strong point.

"I'm here," he hears himself say. 'I'm yours,' he thinks, but keeps it to himself. Best not to lay all of his cards on the table at once - he's still the God of Mischief, after all.

"You're here." Thor doesn't have to beckon - Loki comes to him willingly, not with a stomach full of low-key dread or survival instinct, either. For the first time in his life, perhaps, his obedience is willing supplication, borne purely of love. It scared him to see how Thor had changed in his absence from Asgard, what losing all ties to the throne and family and even that silly Jane mortal had done to him. At least he looks the part now; the hair, though unwillingly cropped, suits him, and his optomological battle scar hardly (annoyingly) diminishes his beauty. Still, he had seen how close Thor had come to convincing himself he could live, in modest happiness, without Loki, knowing that they were both still alive, and that Loki could do the same, and where once that had seemed to be absolute freedom to him, now, back to the wall, it seemed a more interminable prison sentence than actual prison. (Loki, of course, would know the difference, perhaps more accurately than anyone else.)

"It's really me." When he speaks again, they're close enough to be touching. It would be easy enough to retreat back into their previous aloofness around one another, with a crack about offering to brush his hair or help him to pick out an eyepatch. It's much harder to go through with formally, truly giving in, giving himself over to another being, to this being, heart and soul, once and for all. 

For the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson chooses the more difficult path. 

Thor's hands are rough, yet familiar, though he fumbles, even trembles, from the effort of accepting Loki's obedience. He can control it now to an impressive degree, but Loki finds that when Thor shoves him against a wall in impassioned, determined upset, he won't fault him for it. "Mine," Loki hears, along with Thor's sharp vacillation in his ear, along with his punishing, bruising grip on his hips. Once more, there's an out if he chooses to take it - "I'm not your hammer," he could scoff, and they would both probably chuckle and collect themselves. Once again, he chooses not to. 

"Yours," he whispers. For the briefest (longest) moment of his existence, silence punctuates the space following this utterance, a pregnant pause in which his offering could, in fact, be rejected. Then, just as quickly, Thor spins him around, pins him with casually yet effectively placed limbs into place between the wall and, well, it wouldn't be inaccurate to refer to him as 'a hard place,' really. He brims with energy, controlled yet malleable, all of it focused on him, and Loki is flattered to find he has never felt so completely and utterly loved. "Brother," Thor murmurs, and Loki's barely imperceptible nod is all that is needed for Thor to move forward, to finally, blissfully, fill the remaining gap between them. 

His lips are soft, but his facial hair rough; likewise, Loki's silver tongue is accompanied by teeth that nip, playfully, until Thor seems to tire of games and posturing, and edges them both towards a chair in the ship's private quarters that he has claimed for himself. He sits first, of course, but instead of Loki dropping to his knees, he clambors atop Thor's lap, two princes at last learning how to share one makeshift throne between them. "Brother," Loki echoes, shuddering as he eases himself down around Thor's cock. They move as one, thrusting, grunting; at one point, Thor tugs him down even further for another kiss, and replaces the hand around Loki's bared cock with his own. One of them comes first, or not; either way, Loki sees galaxies behind his eyes. For once, he knows and accepts his exact place in this universe and all others.

The aftermath between them is comfortable. "You and the Valkyrie?" Loki brings himself to ask as they adjust various articles of clothing and artifacts in the room, one in which Loki assumes he will personally come to know quite well. 

Thor shrugs, pushing the (newly-cleaned) chair back into place behind a small-ish table. "I'm pretty sure she's into Banner," he replies; and then, mostly out of politeness: "You?"

"No, I'm not into Banner," Loki quips, and they both laugh. It's a brief bliss, a small moment of respite from what is assuredly but the beginning of rebuilding their entire civilization from the ground up. The two brothers savor it, and then, in accord, at last, move simultaneously to rejoin the ship's many other occupants, to lead their people, together, wherever destiny wills them next.


End file.
